Tag: BMW

Nightmare In Nicaragua 2

Once I connected with Josias we returned to the bike.

Thankfully, Susan says she was just fine and had reached ‘Amazing’ level on her NY Times Spelling Bee puzzle. She said the puzzle had relaxed her and she wasn’t even that hungry yet. Excellent.

Back outside in the 35c heat and humidity, Josias, Mr Google Translate and I talked over the issues with the bike.

‘esta hecho polvo’ he said – ‘its knackered’. Well, he didn’t exactly say that but I’m trying to give you some linguistical flavour in this story.

We agreed to take the bike to his ‘workshop’. Before we did that I reminded Josias of my priority – first, we had to get Susan to the hostel.

Thankfully I had chosen well – it was a largely flat route and we made it in a few minutes. We checked in and I left Susan sitting on a nice settee with a fan for cooling. I unloaded the panniers by myself and headed off for the second time today. Susan took it in her stride and appeared completly at ease. What a trooper!

I follow Josias, who is riding his small motorbike through the city. I can’t keep up. The clutch had well and truly gone.

We take the bike back to where I first met Josias and parked the bike in his workshop. To be honest, it was actually his grandmother’s living room.

As I’ve said before my heart wasn’t sinking because it had reached rock bottom. It had nowhere to sink.

I gave Josias my keys and he took me back to the hostel. I climbed onto the back of his small motorcycle. It’s tiny and I’m still in my big boots and trousers. I look like a gorilla sitting on a coconut.

I let Josias know I wasn’t experienced being on the back – only once in South America for a short journey.

Josias laughed, shrugged and pulled a quick u turn to get us on our way. He got a fright when two hands gripped him.

After a few minutes through the traffic I began to relax and dropped my hands and started balanced myself by squeezing him with my thighs. Suffice to say that’s the last time Josias offered to take me on his bike.

I took a photo of Josias testing my bike outside his grandmother’s living room garage.

And here’s the living room garage premises. It’s not the one with the white doors – it’s the one behind the bike.

At the end of this road there was a wooden police box where the police keep a permanent 24 hour presence. One police officer in a one person ‘lookout’. I would have taken a photo to show you but I thought better of it – the Nicaraguan police don’t have a good reputation.

As you can appreciate this neighborhood profile was not very reassuring for a guy without a clutch!

Once back at the hostel I was pleased to see Susan had made it through the afternoon. Such resilience.

I was fretting a bit. I was still fretting after a few beers in the evening and if I’m still fretting when I’m drinking beer then you know there’s a serious bit of fretting going on.

I was just too well aware I had just given my bike and its only electronic key to a guy in a Managuan backstreet.

I had taken photos. I’m not so daft – I was once a policeman in an alternative world.

I aslo had his phone number and we agreed he would WhatsApp me in the morning once he had looked at the clutch.

Would he really?

Jeez, how would I explain this to everyone? – you did what? you gave him what? you didn’t even know him?, he didn’t have a garage, just a grandmother’s living room? In bloody Nicaragua?

Yes I did. I bloody well did!

It’s actually not as bad as that. It’s a little bit badder.

Before Josias left me in the afternoon he asked if I could give him $20 for tools. I actually gave him $40 and the few tools I carry. Loaded up, he motorcycles off into the sunset.

I didn’t sleep well that night for dreaming of a granny riding about town on my bike. A kind of witch and broomstick theme, Wizard of Oz thing.

So that’s Nightmare in Nicaragua 2 – can it get any worse than a granny riding your bike?

Of course it can!

Please let me welcome you to Nightmare in Nicaragua 3.

Nightmare In Nicaragua

So there I am sitting on the bike on a fast carraigeway dealing with my emotions. That sinking feeling when I realised the bike was finished going forward. The despair knowing I wouldn’t find a garage in Managua that could undertake the repair. The hopelessness of not knowing what to do next.

Well, I soon snapped out of that! It was obvious what I had to do next – I had to get off this bloody road before someone rammed me up the backside!

I recalled we had passed a gas station at the roundabout. The only way to get there was reverse. For non motorbike people I will highlight that the bike doesn’t have a reverse gear. Nevertheless, gravity was on my side. Still, it’s not the best manoeuvre to reverse down a three lane ‘dual carraigeway’. You know what I mean – I’m sure there’s a technical term for it.

So with Susan as my back marker waving at motorists to stay out the inside lane, I slowly rolled back.

There’s Susan walking behind. As you can see the camera caught her not waving. I suspect she’s busy thinking about how much of my pension she gets if I don’t make it!

Time and time again someone would come right up behind me. Driving behaviour in this part of the world is abysmal. There was a lot of shouting, mainly from a guy in a nice helmet.

Slowly, so slowly, I reversed into the gas station car park, picked my spot and parked the bike. I was physically and emotionally drained.

I had to get a grip – it was now a matter of priorities!

Yes, you’ve guessed it – the bottom has just fallen out of our travelling world and the first priority is to get Susan out of this bloody heat!

So into the air conditioned cafe we go. I get Susan out of her hat, jacket and BOom BBOom vest, sit her at a table and buy a large bottle of cold water.

Right that’s the priorities sorted – so let’s see about the bike.

Now, let’s rewind 3 hours to my cock a doodle do, rice and beans breakfast.

In between the cocks and the doodles, I managed to recount our bike issues to out lovely host. She recommended a friend, a motorcycle mechanic in Managua who used to work for Triumph.

I politely listened and said everything would be fine and when she showed me a 3 year out of date Facebook profile I took a photo to be nice.

Standing in the cafe, as I contemplated what to do, I received a phone message from this lady – ‘may our Creator be with you and guide you safely to your destination’

I then remembered that Facebook entry, I remembered his name – ‘Josias’.

Now sit down when I tell you this next bit. Do you know the name ‘Josias’ is of Hebrew origin and means ‘God supports and heals, God helps’!

Wow! Here I was standing in an air conditioned cafe having a bit of a biblical moment.

It was a sign and so I tried phoning the number on Josias’ three year old Facebook entry but something was wrong. Wrong code, wrong something.

I needed a local who could help. A wise man. Well there were about 30 people in that air conditioned garage cafe and not one of them could help. Nobody could speak English and as I didn’t want a beer at this time, my useful Spanish phrases were exhausted.

So I brought out my old friend Mr Google Translate and suddenly I was like Captain Kirk who could talk to the Klingons.

One young lad showed an incling of helpfulness and I pounced on this. With his help, we phoned Josias again with a change of local code. No luck, the number appeared cut off.

Three year old Facebook. Cut off phone number. What’s next?

Well Josias had a three year old address on Facebook. I checked it on Google Maps. There’s no listing for a garage. No listing for anything.

Give up?

Of course I didn’t. I’ve got the ‘Creator’ leading me to Josias. I know I have. Nobody said the path to salvation was easy. I’ve got to find my way and not give up.

Next step? Oh yes, a quick check on my priority lets me know all is well. Susan is fine and working out the latest conundrum on her phone puzzle game. She’s looking relaxed and cool.

I spoke to the young lad and asked about getting a taxi. I showed him the addesss and he said he would take me. It wasn’t an area of town for a an old gringo to venture into alone. Just as well as I didn’t even have any local currency for a taxi. Someone’s looking out for me!

Within 5 minutes we were in his small, beat up car with no air con. I was still in half motorcycle gear, roasting and toasting.

Another 10 minutes we were sitting outside an optician waiting on his wife and mother in law. Apparently we had a pick up first.

Another 20 minutes and we’re still waiting outside the optician.

I texted Susan an update in case she was worried. She wasn’t. Somehow, just somehow, she manages to remain cool and collected in these stressful situations.

Meanwhile, back in the car like an oven, I multitask and search for accomodation in this city. I knew we were going nowhere at least for a few days.

I found a hostel with parking (not an easy thing to do) within 0.5 miles of where the broken bike was. I reasoned I could push it there if necessary.

So I booked two nights and texted Susan so she knew we had a plan for the night. She appreciated the reassurance. I just hope my message didn’t interrupt a crucial part of her puzzle on her phone.

Eventually, wife and mother in law appeared and we set off for my non existent garage. Mr Google Translate was our friend as we journeyed through the Managua backstreets.

We pulled into a small broken down road with broken down houses and nothing much else. We parked. The young lad looked at me. This was it. There was nothing here. I was nearly broken in broken down road.

But my heart can’t sink because it can’t sink any lower. Still, I could feel the energy flow out my body.

The young lad is about to turn the car around and head back. He’s given up. Is that it do we just give up?

Of course we bloody don’t! I’m on the road to salvation!

I’m about to get out the car and have a wander around when I see two guys sitting on small plastic stools outside a house a hundred metres down the road.

I stare at them. I recognise that guy. I pull out the three year old Facebook photo. It looks like him. I show it to the young lad. He shrugs. He’s unconvinced.

I get out the car and walk up to them.

‘Josias?’ I ask

‘Si’ he replies.

Hallelujah!

The Master Massager

During our stay in Granada I arranged an appointment with the BMW garage in Guatemala to look at the clutch.

There’s very few garages in this part of the world who can fix large motorbikes – they don’t have the training and they certainly don’t have the parts. They’re used to riding and repairing small bikes with generic, swappable parts.

Our most likely success would be in Guatemala City and that was another 450 miles along the main highway.

We were awake early at 4am on the day of our departure from Granada. In this biodiverse hotel we had two cockerels living outside our room. Oh, these guys could cock a doodle doo like it was a cock a doodle doo world championship!

After a breakfast of eggs, rice and beans, we headed for Leon, a nice easy 83 miles along the main highway. Or so we thought.

I was treating the bike nice and the bike was being nice to us. That’s how relationships work. Don’t they?

‘Not always!’ I hear you shout back! Yeah, I agree and in this relationship no matter how well I treated the bike it had made its mind up it was going to have a bit of a huff. That’s how relationships work. Don’t they?

We were rolling along nicely when we hit the outer main roads of Managua, capital city of Nicaragua. It was traffic bedlam.

We’re used to traffic chaos in this part of the world. Hell, we even survived La Paz. But this time it’s a little bit special. After each stop I have to massage the clutch to get the bike moving. My hands were tender and skilfull. Honestly, I was like master baker Paul Holywood making the softest, fluffiest white bread in the world.

We kept moving. Slowly through the traffic. The clutch and I began to overheat. I breathed slowly, the sweat dripped and I massaged.

We reached a large roundabout and the road ahead looked relatively clear. A wide roadway leading over a bit of an incline. Looked like heaven. I smiled. We had made it. I had massaged that clutch through traffic hell. I was the clutch massager. What a guy I am!

I sighed in relief as we negotiated the roundabout and headed up the hill. Take it nice and easy. Nice and easy does it, master massager.

Then the bike slowed. It revved. It wouldn’t pull up the hill.

I massaged, I shifted down to first gear but the bike continued to slow.

It had had enough.

It stopped.

The clutch massager stopped.

Stopped in the inside lane on a fast road, I checked the mirrors for vehicles racing up behind.

‘It’s finished’ I said to Susan.

‘Get off, it’s clear’.

Susan jumped off.

‘This bike is going nowhere!’

Nightmare in Nicaragua had begun.